10 A Script for Danger (5 page)

As George and I followed Nysa across the parking lot, I spotted a piece of paper lying on the asphalt and stopped to pick it up.

“What's that?” George inquired.

Nysa stopped and turned around. “Oh, that's a call sheet,” she said when she saw the paper in my hand. “It tells you everything about a specific day on set. What time everyone has to be there, what scenes
we're shooting, which actors are involved, how many extras we need.”

George peered over my shoulder. “You make one of these every day?”

Nysa nodded. “Well, not me, personally, but someone on my team does. Every crew member gets one for the following day before he or she leaves the set.”

“Can I keep this one?” I asked.

Nysa nodded, then led us to the lawn behind the train station, where several picnic tables had been set up in the middle of a vast buffet. A pair of tents protected the food and the crew from the hot sun.

“All right, girls, catch you later!” Nysa exclaimed before rushing off, barking commands into her walkie-talkie.

George eagerly got in line for food, her eyes gleaming. Bess joined us seconds later.

“Where have you guys been?!” she exclaimed. “You missed an amazing performance from Brian.”

“Oh, you know,” I replied, trying to sound as vague
as possible in the presence of so many unknown ears, “just poking around.”

As we served ourselves pasta, potatoes, vegetables, and meat from large trays, I carefully observed the various crew members, thinking about the lengthy list on the back of Nysa's call sheet. There had been at least one hundred people on there, not including the extras, security guards, and reception guests. We might have identified a few potential suspects, but we hadn't even interacted with most of the cast and crew.

When George finally joined Bess and me, her plate was piled at least six inches high.

“You're like a bottomless pit!” Bess cried.

Alex beckoned us to his table at the edge of the tent, and we hurried over to join him. Brian sat across from Alex, while Cora was perched on the edge of the bench, fiddling with some settings on her camera.

“Have a seat, girls!” Alex offered.

George plopped down and promptly began eating her turkey burger. I put my tray down next to hers, but Bess just stood frozen in place, staring at Brian. He
was drinking some kind of green, lumpy liquid from a clear thermos.

“Bess, come on!” I called, suppressing a smile. “You can squeeze in next to me.”

“Hey, Cora, you'd better give me copies of all this footage you're taking, okay? I'll give you my e-mail,” Brian said.

Cora beamed. “Absolutely, Brian!”

I raised an eyebrow in George's direction as if to say,
oh, so Brian can see her footage, but nobody else can!

“Whoa, guys. I don't want any behind-the-scenes stuff out there yet!” Alex exclaimed.

“
Obviously
, Alex,” Cora replied defiantly. “Brian meant after the shoot, right?”

“Of course,” Brian said. He finished his green drink. “I'm all done . . . you can have my seat.” He stood up and gave Bess a friendly nod. “I have to go over my lines, anyway.”

“Um. Thank you?” Bess responded breathlessly.

Just as she sat down, I noticed that Brian had left something behind: a copy of
The Hamilton Inn
screenplay with his name printed in black ink on the cover page. There was a comic book sticking out of it, and I could see the words
No. 1 of the Blue Ranger Series
printed in one corner. I tried to get a closer look, but a hand quickly moved in and scooped up the script.

“There it is! I was so worried.” I recognized the anxious, well-dressed young man I'd seen hanging around Brian earlier.

“You're Omar, right?” I asked, and introduced myself.

He nodded, keeping one eye on his phone. “Omar Billings. I'm Brian's assistant. Oh! That, too.” He grabbed the empty thermos with his free hand.

“What is that green goop, anyway?” George asked.

“It's a kale-bee-pollen-oatmeal-flax smoothie!” Omar snapped, as if it were the most common thing in the world. “Brian says these help him stay fit and focused.”

Alex swallowed a bite of his hamburger. “I keep telling Brian that he doesn't need to bulk up for this role; his character is just supposed to be a regular guy!
But he insists on looking like a movie star anyway.”

Omar seemed to take Alex's comment as criticism. “He
is
a movie star!” he fired back. “What do you expect?”

Before Alex could respond, Omar's phone started buzzing. He leaped to attention and hurried off toward Brian's trailer.

“I need a new memory card,” Cora announced brusquely, and flounced away.

As soon as we were alone, Alex leaned in. “So, any news? What's the latest?”

“Well,” I replied slowly, “Sal is bitter enough to want to hurt people. We haven't ruled him out, but whoever climbed to the top of that trailer and cut that hole had to have been less . . .”

“Old,” George finished.

Bess shot her a glare.

“What?” George exclaimed defensively. “It's true!”

“Can you think of any reason that Sal might want to sabotage the film?” I continued.

Alex shook his head. “Not really. I've never even
worked with him before, though. Lali has, but she's one of the few people he's
not
mean to. I can't imagine why he'd want to hurt her.”

“What about Roberta Ely?” Bess asked. “That cranky woman who runs the River Heights Fourth of July Carnival? She doesn't seem too happy about you guys shooting on the fairgrounds.”

“Would she have gotten a call sheet, Alex?” I asked.

Alex looked momentarily impressed at my use of the proper terminology. “We only give them to crew members, but people leave them lying around all the time, so it's possible.” He paused. “But even if Roberta Ely managed to pick up a call sheet, she wouldn't have gotten it till this morning; we sent them out late last night.”

“Whoever dumped the fake blood on Brian's shirt would have had to know what he would be wearing in the first scene. That means it's someone who had access to inside information about the film beforehand,” I explained.

“Interesting,” Alex replied. “So the prankster
is probably a member of our crew! Kind of a creepy thought.”

I was trying to figure out the most delicate way to ask Alex about Cora when Nysa shouted, “We're back in!” and, with her army of production assistants, hustled everyone back to work.

“Let's continue this later,” Alex said, grabbing his folders and rushing off. Seeing his worried face made me more determined than ever to solve this mystery, but I knew how disappointed Alex would be if Cora was indeed our culprit. I had no concrete evidence against her at this point, so I decided to keep my suspicions to myself.

George insisted on grabbing one more brownie before we followed the crowd to the set, which had now moved inside the train station. Just as we were about to enter, Nysa appeared, apparently escorting Omar out. “Closed set,” she announced. “Only cast and
vital
crew can be inside. Sorry, guys.”

Omar glared at Nysa and stormed off, but George, Bess, and I remained standing at the doorway.

George nudged me. “Should we watch through the windows?”

“You can't,” Nysa said. “You'll be in frame.” With that, she went back inside.

“If only there was a way for us to observe without being in the way,” I pondered.

“You know, you can watch everything at video village.” I looked up to see Raina walking toward us. She was wearing a tool belt filled with double-sided tape, a lint roller, safety pins, and stain remover. “Follow me.”

She led us to a small tent set up on a nearby lawn. Several director-style chairs faced a monitor that showed everything the camera was seeing. I could hear Alex's voice coming through a set of headphones next to the monitor. A number of crew members—including Lali—had gathered around as well.

“This is video village. We can watch and hear what's going on without actually being on set.” As she spoke, I could tell that Raina was making an effort to seem confident and poised after the incident in the costume trailer.

“Last looks!” Nysa barked over the walkie-talkie. The makeup artists collected their bags.

“That's my last chance to adjust the costumes before they start shooting!” Raina exclaimed anxiously, hurrying away. “I'll be right back!”

“So what's so intense that we can't be inside?” George asked.

I thumbed through my sides. In this scene, Dylan confessed to his sister that he had amassed a large amount of debt and if they didn't make a quick profit from the Hamilton Inn, loan sharks would come after him.

“That's
it
?” George grumbled. “I thought it was going to be a zombie apocalypse kind of thing.”

“Gross, George!” Bess exclaimed.

“
Shhhh!
” came a stern voice from across the tent. We zipped our lips and watched Brian in action.

After the first take, I realized that one of our suspects was missing.

“Where's Cora?” I whispered to George. “I haven't seen her since lunch.”

“Me neither,” she replied, and Bess shook her head too.

“I'm going to take a quick stroll around,” I told them.

I set off, walking from the train station to the other end of the parking lot. I noticed Omar pacing outside Brian's and Zoë's trailers, hands deep in his pockets. He definitely looked frustrated, I assumed because Nysa had kicked him off the set.

Nearby, I could hear Sal grumbling to himself about Nysa's stolen stapler accusation. I was about to try speaking with him again when I noticed Cora coming out of the production trailer with her camera.

“Hey there,” I greeted her.

Cora had never been particularly friendly, but the expression on her face made her look downright nervous.

“I was looking for Lali, but nobody's in there,” she explained, even though I hadn't asked.

“Everything okay?” I pressed, keeping my tone pleasant.

She avoided eye contact. “I just think I should be allowed on set. How am I supposed to film a behind-the-scenes documentary if my brother won't let me go behind the scenes?”

“Alex made you leave?” I had been sensing friction between the siblings since the moment I arrived.

“Yeah. Brian said I could stay, but Alex thought my camera was distracting everyone from the real camera. You know, I've been studying film way longer than my brother has. Up until two years ago, he was going to be a lawyer!” Her hands were clenched around her camera straps so hard that her knuckles turned white.

I did my best to comfort her. “Well, I'm sure he's just stressed out, what with it being the first day of shooting and having to deal with these pranks.”

Cora kept her gaze downcast. “Whatever,” she said. “At least Brian gets it, even if my brother doesn't.”

She stalked away and plopped down angrily in one of the plastic chairs next to the craft service table. I wanted to linger nearby in hopes of continuing the
conversation, but Cora didn't seem to be in a chatty mood.

As I pondered the case further, Zoë swished past me, speaking intensely to someone on her phone. She disappeared into her trailer.

After a few minutes, she poked her head out the door. “Has anyone seen Shea?” she called. A young-looking production assistant with jet-black hair dashed across the parking lot.

“I'm here, Zoë!” he cried. “Sorry! I was looking for the stapler.” He stopped to catch his breath. “But that's not as important as you! What do you need?”

Zoë looked a little taken aback by Shea's display of enthusiasm. “I just wanted to see if tomorrow's call sheet was ready. I was wondering what we're shooting.”

“You shouldn't be handing out call sheets early,” Omar barked from where he was sulking nearby.

“But they're finished,” Shea said, looking confused. “Should I ask Nysa first?”

“Omar, don't harass him,” Zoë scoffed. “It's fine, Shea. I just need to get an idea of what time I should
be here tomorrow. I'm trying to schedule something.”

Shea looked anxiously from Zoë to Omar. Finally he said, “I'll get a call sheet, Zoë,” and he ran to the production trailer.

“Fine. Don't listen to me,” Omar huffed, rummaging around in one of the coolers near the craft service table.

Even though it wasn't first time I'd heard Omar make a snotty comment, he was being particularly harsh on Shea. I wondered if there was something bothering him beyond being kicked off the set.

“Omar, can you hand me a soda?” I asked. “I'm really thirsty.”

“Huh?” he said, as if he didn't understand.

“A soda.
Please
.”

“Oh, sure,” Omar replied, tossing me a can.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem kind of . . . on edge.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'm just tired. The early mornings are getting to me, you know?”

I nodded.

“And I guess I'm a little homesick,” he added.

“For L.A.?”

“No, I'm from Vancouver. I've never actually been to Los Angeles,” Omar admitted, “but I'm hoping that Brian's next project will take me there.”

Shea jogged back out of the production trailer, sweating and wearing a panicked expression.

“Lali?” he called, and then repeated his words into his walkie-talkie. “Has anyone seen Lali? It's an emergency. I need her NOW.”

Moments later Lali hurried over. Shea whispered something in her ear, and she snatched the call sheet from his trembling hand.

I leaned over to peek. In big red letters on the bottom of the piece of paper, someone had written:
SHUT IT DOWN, OR YOU'LL BE SORRY
.